


You + Me = Happiness ²

by steviekat



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: After the Breach, Also featuring beautiful art!, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/F, Fem, Fluff, Genderbending, Genderswap, Introspection, Ladies in love, Post Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:29:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2345129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steviekat/pseuds/steviekat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, Newt had never really put much thought into the future. The future of K-Science? Sure!<br/>Her own?<br/>To be fair, this probably better than anything she could have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You + Me = Happiness ²

If Newt had ever let herself imagine a life after the Kaiju attacks, she's pretty certain it wouldn't have looked like this.

Oh she'd talk big, give over the top and exaggerated plans loudly to anyone who would, or wouldn't, ask. How she would take herself and her findings on tour, hellooo she's gonna be the one saving the world and all rock-stars need to tour and share the love dude, giving lectures as and when she isn't partying it up college style, and what university wont clamour over itself to get a piece of her?

But she _is_ a rock-star, and buried deep at the back of her mind she'd at most almost imagined a rock-star's death; going out with a bang too young but damn she'd leave her mark on the world.

She's pretty sure anyone would be hard pressed to picture her in any state other than frantic movement, synapses firing so rapid fast her hands shake with the speed and her lips run quickly but sometimes even her own words trip over themselves in their haste to keep up with her brain and thoughts are too quick she has to be moving, shaping ideas in the air because her fingers can't type quick enough and _can this woman even sit still_? 

She thinks sometimes that maybe that's what first drew them together. She'd recognised in those long fingers and too thin too wide _too gorgeous_ lips the hounding need to bring life to incessant thought. Where her own fingers were too slow and jittery, necessitating a Dictaphone to later process rapid speech into manageable points, those, oh god so long and precise and perfect, were quick and could produce equations as clipped as the low words muttered into chalk but somehow as fluid as any thought Newt could shape into the air.  

The symphony, ha, wouldn't Herm just love that?, of their life together had been made up of quiet, bass mumblings, staccato percussion of chalk on board and the ever changing sections of Newt's voice; loud and brash as brass, as flitting as woodwind, as grating as broken strings. Their fights a crescendo of sound. 

She's kinda glad not everything has changed.

The first thing she'd done when they finally settled on their own place, well, _started_ as first but she'd very quickly become distracted by the bed that had at that point been little more than a futon on the floor but with the _intention_ of being done first, was to paint the entire kitchen and half the living room walls in blackboard paint. So maybe she had made jokes about catering to the needs of an archaic schoolmarm, but she had already pictured their own walls covered in regimented lines of equation and scrawling images of Kaiju. She had pictured half chalked shopping lists and exasperated reminders and rude poems and that was that, she just had to do it[1]. A surprising amount of half concocted recopies had made their way onto the boards; she's a biologist, a _xeno_ biologist, but hey, she's a genius at science and cooking's kinda chemistry right? And their walls are a bright and ever changing litany of information in rainbow coloured chalk and it's _perfect_. 

"If that is the sound of one of your, your 'Dirty Limericks' encroaching on any of my hypothesis you will find yourself reacquainted with my cane. I also hasten to remind you that you are a scientist, not a poet. They are never half as clever as you seem to believe." 

"Aw, baby, you know I love it when you talk kinky."

Hermione's choked _harrrrumph_ was something that thankfully hadn't changed, come on it's cute and who else can somehow roll the R's of a scoff?, although Newt's definitely detecting rising levels of fondness[2]. 

She considers pushing the tease just a tad more, maybe just enough to send Hermione into a red faced fluster and those long, precise fingers will start awkwardly fumbling _just right_. But the kettle is already steaming, condensation forming and dripping on the window to match the streaks of rain on the other side, and the low murmur of the TV all wrap Newt in a moment that is so comfortable she takes pause instead. Standing on her toes she can just about peer over the countertop into the adjoining living room and see Hermione curled up on their over large ‘monstrosity’ of a sofa, fingers padding at one of Newt’s tablets as she tests the equations running in the show[3], and the rush of contentedness leaves her almost breathless. She can hardly prepare their drinks fast enough, the tinkle of the metal spoon against ceramic adding to the soft litany of sound at odds with the sudden buzzing beneath her skin, before rushing across the room.

“Slow, slowly Newton you are going to burn yourself, must you run so fast Newton you are _spilling on your fingers!_ New-” She’s already dropped the mugs on the coffee table, using coasters only because they’re there in prime position, her breaths becoming desperately frantic and her mildly singed fingers threatening to shake.

“Newton.”

This is how she knows, _she knows,_ that they’re perfect, because Hermione has already placed the tablet on the floor and is offering both hands out from her place perched among a sea of cushions. Newt almost keens because this is exactly what she had suddenly needed with a burning in her veins. Mindless of how they’re damp she thrusts forward her own, all twenty of their fingers meeting and interlacing, their hands becoming solid and stronger together in a spine tingling touch of nerve endings. A shock of affection stutters both their hearts in that slow moment where fingers slot between fingers and they feel so close and perfect perfect _perfect,_ fused together like they cannot, will not, be parted.

Oh so gently Hermione brushes her wide lips to both of their joined hands, and there’s nothing for it but for Newt to stagger over her legs and body, mindful of the left, until she’s laying on Hermione’s chest, a leg pressed closely on either side of her ribs and face jammed into her neck. Their tangled hands rest bracketing their heads, Newt a blanket cocooning Hermione’s body and from here she can feel the pulse in her neck against lips. Hermione never squirms away when Newt feels the impulse to drape so completely over her like this. She understands completely the need to press into each other, never close enough to push their minds into each other, so so so _close,_ but perfect and grounding none the less.

The frantic itch recedes in these moments, and Newt can never bring herself to feel an iota of embarrassment, not with Hermione humming in the back of her throat and comfortably splayed along their, _their,_ couch[4] among the cushions and throws and the heater that is Newt. With her cheek she coaxes Newt’s face up until their lips are just barely touching in the most delicate of kisses, their fingers tightening almost but never painfully together as they share breath.

Maybe later they’ll be loud, challenging each other at every step because that’s what they _do_ that’s how theymake each other better, and they’ll watch over each other’s shoulders, having to be involved in everything the other is doing, getting under each other’s skin as that’s unquestionably where they _belong_. For now, Newt could quietly burst with just how great they are together, come on they’re a pretty kick ass _world saving_ team, and just how much she loves this woman and what her life has become and well.

She couldn’t have imagined it any better herself.

 

 

 

* * *

 

[1] Hermione had rolled her eyes when she first realised what Newt was doing but hey, the bed got quiet the christening so that's a point on Newt's Acceptable Behaviour tally

[2] Which she's totally quantifying on a living graph along with a system to calculate how to score the longest roll of R's that Hermione _can never find out about_

[3]Newt had introduced her to Numbers for a laugh, and shouldn’t have been surprised that Hermione felt the need to run every equation and argue against the validity of what happens in every episode. She’s adorable in a stuffy, perfectionist kinda way

[4]And Newt is never not gonna be smug she talked her into the over sized, over stuffed L unit. The extra space is perfect for stretching out a sore leg, cuddling up together, and Newt is _so_ talking Hermione into a blanket fort. Totally worth the admittedly pretty garish colour.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my amazing and talented Lady Love, who created the gorgeous art to go with the fic <3  
> Check her out at http://female--president.tumblr.com/


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